


Proportional

by lastdream



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Love Confessions, M/M, Macro/Micro, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastdream/pseuds/lastdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire finds himself eight inches tall and isn't sure how to fix it. Enjolras doesn't seem to mind, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proportional

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt at the kinkmeme: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/14280.html?thread=13239240#t13239240
> 
> Also, this is both my first published work and my first smut, so...

Grantaire wakes in the grimy alley, and the first thing he notices is his dirty, disheveled clothing. It’s obvious that he didn’t make it back to his rooms last night. His memory is mostly a blur, so he must have switched to absinth earlier than usual.

He looks down, squints at his own legs and the paving stones under them, and sighs heavily. He probably ought to spend less time with Lesgle and Joly; between them they seem to have bred a strain of bad luck that’s catching.

As he moves to get to his feet, Grantaire brings a hand to his head to brace against the inevitable pounding headache. He finds, to his own shock, that it doesn’t come. It’s perhaps the first time that month he’s awoken without a hangover, so he’s allowed to be surprised. Grantaire usually hates the accompanying clarity of mind— and the melancholy that comes with it— but at that moment, he’s glad of it.

Because that’s when he notices the second living thing in the alleyway.

 

His only thought resembling a plan is to get to the Musain, where he knows his friends will help him if they can and accept him if they can’t. That warm assurance is one of the few things that keeps him from slipping down the necks of his bottles entirely. It will take him the better part of the day to get there, partly because he has to account for different distances now, and partly because he doesn’t want to start out until the evening starts coming on. The attention of passers-by is the last thing he needs. He does have to credit his current situation with one thing, though. It’s never been so easy to satisfy his hunger pangs before.

Once it’s dim enough that he thinks he’ll be inconspicuous, Grantaire follows the familiar path to the café. He has to duck behind a column as a flock of brightly-plumed grisettes twitters past, twirling their curls and swishing their skirts as they walk. The tallest of them has flowing blond waves of hair and aristocratic features and moves with decisive grace, and Grantaire feels a different kind of pang entirely. He shakes his head quickly.

She wouldn’t look at him even once right now— let alone twice— though perhaps it would be better to be ignored for his current situation than for the one he can never help. In any case, her voice is high and fluttery and often dissolves in giggling, and that’s enough to put him off immediately. She may be Aphrodite, but it’s Apollo’s name etched into his heart.

Grantaire needs a drink. Perhaps, if he asks very nicely, Louison will give him enough to bathe in. It wouldn’t be hard, now.

It’s easy to get in the front door of the Musain, because most days it stays open until the night’s dangers make that insupportable. It’s harder to bypass the door to the back room, which is kept locked and bolted to protect the Amis from the keen ears of spies. Some luck is still with him, though, in that he’s late enough that the meeting is ending and the Amis are beginning to leave. 

He counts them as they go. Feuilly is first; he has to work early the next morning and cannot afford the evening’s revelries. Bahorel and Jehan leave next, headed to another wine shop probably. If he knows them, Bahorel intends to start a fight and Jehan to set it in verse. Many a meeting has started off with grand declaiming. Courfeyrac follows quickly after, probably hoping to charm some by-standing grisette with the dashing of his connection to the chief brawler. Some minutes go by before Joly and Bossuet come out the door, both drunk and leaning heavily on each other. They trade jokes that would probably be puns if Grantaire were as drunk as they were. He thinks about calling out to them, but his confidence in their acceptance is harder to reach for now that he’s here, looking up at them. Anyway, they have their lady to get home to.

That’s everyone. Well. Everyone except Enjolras, and as much as Grantaire doesn’t want to humiliate himself by showing their fearless leader what has become of him, he knows he won’t be able to get Combeferre alone. They never leave but together, and if he didn’t know better, and didn’t have much more important problems, he would be jealous. 

He’s absolutely jealous, but denial is an excellent strategy.

Grantaire draws a breath and tugs the door open just the couple of inches it takes to slip inside.

Immediately, he’s disappointed and a little terrified with what he finds there. Disappointed, because Combeferre’s shoes are conspicuously absent underneath the table. Terrified, because Enjolras’ lovely black boots do not have the same problem. 

Still, he didn’t come all this way to hide under a table. It may be humiliating for Grantaire to show himself to Enjolras right now, but Enjolras is the pinnacle of respect for humanity. He’s more likely to be outraged on Grantaire’s behalf than to judge him for his current state. Grantaire pulls himself together and approaches Enjolras. It doesn’t help that the angle makes him look all the more like Grecian statuary, but Grantaire can pull himself together and do this, dammit, and he will.

Right after he curls up behind the table leg and breathes far too quickly for a good two minutes.

“Hello?” It’s Enjolras’ voice, and Grantaire stops breathing entirely. The chair scrapes the floor as Enjolras gets to his feet, his clear voice rising a little, edging toward angry. “I know I heard someone. Where are you? Show yourself!”

Grantaire can’t help but respond to the command from his leader; he steps out from his hiding place and clears his throat. “Here, Apollo.” He feels a little strange satisfaction when Enjolras startles, but the movement is controlled, stifled. Enjolras is a warrior, not one to be affrighted by little shocks. Grantaire smiles a little at his own thought’s wording. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras moves around the table, looking for him. His voice is gentler than it was when he didn’t know who was in the room with him, and that warms Grantaire more than it probably should. “I heard your voice. Where are you?”

“Please don’t step on me.” It’s a real warning as much as it’s a clue; those boots are coming a little too close for comfort. Enjolras leans down until he’s nearly lying on the floor, looking closely at Grantaire. All his worries about shame fly out the window. Up close, Enjolras is breathtaking enough that his first concern becomes oxygen rather than dignity.

“What happened to you?”

“I don’t really remember.” Grantaire realizes as he says it that it’s a lie. The memories may be fuzzy, but he has them. Enjolras begins to frown, until Grantaire corrects himself. “I mean, I don’t really want to tell you. I was hoping to see if Combeferre knew anything. To put me right.”

“Combeferre’s ill. Not— nothing dire, but he’s staying in bed to recover more quickly. He can’t work as a surgeon until he’s well.”

“Of course.” Grantaire isn’t sure what else he can say to that. His best hope comes down to nothing at all, at least for a couple days.

“Is there anything you need from me?”

There are so, so many answers to that question.

“No,” is what he finally decides to say. It’s the safest answer, anyway. “Could you—“ his face flushes— “put me on the table? I don’t want to be stepped on, and I need a rest before I start for my own rooms, it’s a bit of a walk when I’m— well, you can see what I’m— what’s wrong with me, I mean, and I don’t want to intrude, of course, but—“

“Hush, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ command works, again, and Grantaire breathes deeply. He’s reassured and calmed, at least until Enjolras continues, “I don’t see any shame in being eight inches tall.”

“You don’t—“ He almost can’t counter that for laughing, but he stops himself eventually. “You don’t see any shame? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t. All men are equal or some such.”

“No man is decreased or increased in his intrinsic worth as a result of his stature, especially not when that stature changes due to some circumstance out of his control!”

“Hush, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, mimicking Enjolras’ tone. Surprisingly, it works. “I’m just saying that it’s embarrassing for a man to be no larger than his own—“ He chokes on the word, somehow unable to be crass with this man literally close enough to breathe on him. He’s breathing Enjolras’ air; that’s a heady thought.

“His own what? His cock, Grantaire? I suppose you didn’t mean to tell me that about yourself.” Grantaire swallows hard and flushes again. “Well, come on then.” Enjolras holds out his hands, flat. Grantaire tries not to think about the soft elegance of those strong hands as he climbs on and is raised to the level of the table.

“Thank you,” he says, as evenly as he can.

“Of course,” Enjolras replies. “You’re welcome to come to my rooms for the night, once I’m done here,” he offers casually as he picks up his pencil and continues drafting what looks like a pamphlet.

“What.” Grantaire is too surprised to intone it like a question. Enjolras’ eyes flick up towards him briefly, then return to his work.

“I don’t want you getting lost or hurt in the dark. Don’t look at me like that, I know you can take care of yourself when you’re large enough to do it.”

“I’ll have you know that first thing this morning, I boxed a rat.”

“You did what?” Enjolras sets his pencil down. The tip broke when he was startled, anyway, and the movement shakes it loose. It rolls towards Grantaire, who picks it up idly.

“Same size as I was. I guess he thought I’d be a tasty snack, but he didn’t know I could throw a punch to put Bahorel on his back.”

“You can not.”

“Ask him how we met, sometime.” Enjolras looks skeptical, but picks up his pencil again and begins to sharpen it with a knife. Grantaire begins illustrating the corner of the pamphlet with his chunk of lead. It feels rather like scratching cave drawings with a rock, but he manages a recognizable caricature of Louis Philippe anyway. By the time he’s done, Enjolras has finished writing. It will be put in ink later, once Combeferre’s had a chance to edit the wording.

Enjolras packs up his things, keeping the papers in an inside pocket of his coat and the pencil and knife in the one by his hip. Grantaire stands and stretches, watching the candle— slowly becoming shorter than he is— flicker and sputter a little as a fat drop of wax rises up to spill over the side. With a supreme effort, he a manages to blow the candle out, leaving only the moon to light the back room.

The dark feels somehow more intimate, closer. Or maybe that’s just because Enjolras actually is moving closer, reaching his right hand towards Grantaire in an attempt to pick him up. It’s gentle, or it tries to be, but Enjolras’ thumb is comparatively enormous and it drives directly into Grantaire’s stomach.

“Oof!”

“My apologies.” Enjolras tries again, this time with his palm behind Grantaire and his fingers curling around his front. Grantaire has to stop himself from crying out again, because that would let Enjolras know that his ring finger is pressing directly into Grantaire's crotch, and it doesn’t hurt even a little bit. It’s overwhelming and wonderful, but it only lasts a few seconds. Then Grantaire is safely tucked into Enjolras’ breast pocket, and he has a whole new torment in the fact that he can feel the throb of Enjolras’ heartbeat. On his entire body.

The whole way to Enjolras’ rooms (when did he agree to that?), Grantaire can feel it against him, reminding him that Enjolras is a man just as much as he is, even if he’s a better one.

Once they arrive, Enjolras slips off his boots and begins to empty his pockets so he can slip off his coat. Grantaire breathes a prayer as Enjolras reaches for his breast pocket, but his luck has failed again; Enjolras takes him in the same hold as before, only this time—

“Grantaire?” This time he notices the erection poking into the pad of his finger. Grantaire panics.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just, you’re warm and it’s been awhile and your heartbeat was—“ Enjolras cuts him off by laying a fingertip over his lips. Even though it’s too large for him to suck it into his mouth like he desperately wants to, he can’t stop himself from darting his tongue out to taste Enjolras’ skin. Grantaire's eyes flutter shut for a moment. When he opens them, Enjolras is looking amused.

“So, what you’re saying is that this—“ he presses deliberately on Grantaire’s hardness— “is a perfectly normal bodily response that I definitely shouldn’t take as evidence that you want to have sex with me?”

Grantaire freezes. He has no idea what’s going on, or what Enjolras is getting at, and all he can think or feel is that Enjolras is touching him. Gently, Enjolras sets Grantaire down on a shelf at eye level so that he can take off his coat. Grantaire’s knees were weak before, so they give out completely when Enjolras strips down to his shirtsleeves. More importantly, the lack of layers makes it obvious that Enjolras is having a ‘perfectly normal bodily response’, too.

He can’t help but wonder why that is. It’s certainly never happened before, not that he’s seen, and the only thing that’s changed is him. Grantaire’s never been tiny before, so something about that must be affecting Enjolras. Grantaire had intended to return to normal as quickly as possible, but if he gets this by being small, maybe he’d like to stay that way.

No sooner has that thought crossed his mind then his (admittedly weak) sense of self-preservation kicks in. If he has Enjolras now, if he has him only once, or only because something about him has changed, or if all he has is this strange physical attraction, what will that do to him? Grantaire knows, as he always has, that what he wants from Enjolras is everything, so he has to content himself with nothing. He has to be content simply remaining in his orbit, because anything less than everything would kill him. Grantaire would burn up in Enjolras’ atmosphere.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras’ voice startles him out of his thoughts. Grantaire composes himself as quickly as he can and tries for wit— or at least, something more like coherency.

“You’re a strange one, aren’t you? Getting off on how small I am.”

“On how small you are? Maybe the timing is… coincidental, but that’s certainly not why.” Enjolras’ laugh is musical. “Try, on the fact that you want me.”

“I want you all the time,” Grantaire says bitterly. Keeping that fact from Enjolras lost all significance in the last few seconds.

“Do you?” asks Enjolras, eyes growing dark. 

“Christ, how could you not know?” Grantaire groans.

“Combeferre says I am prone to imagining my feelings in others. I see zeal and passion where it does not always exist, because I have so much in myself. I thought I had done this with you.” That Enjolras wanted him enough to imagine Grantaire’s own fervor as a reflection is an overwhelming thought. Grantaire’s cock makes its interest known, twitching and straining against his trousers.

“No, no you haven’t,” he rasps.

“So, to be clear, you do want me?”

“Since you’re so intent on dragging it out of me, yes, yes I do.”

“Excellent,” Enjolras says happily, reaching for Grantaire again. Reluctantly, Grantaire scrambles away from him, so that his fingers only just graze Grantaire’s clothes. “Now what’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his lovely blond head. The catch of dim light in his curls is distracting, but Grantaire makes himself focus.

“You asked me if I want you. You haven’t asked if I want to do this, and I don’t. Or at least— I can’t.”  
Enjolras just stares at him for a long moment, arm still stretched out to rest fingertips on the edge of Grantaire’s shelf. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but his eyes seem hurt.

“Can’t?” he asks very neutrally.

“I really can’t, Enjolras, I—“ Grantaire’s voice is pained and nearing desperate. Maybe he’ll burn up in the atmosphere anyway. He takes a deep breath, then two, and three. He says, “I don’t want to fuck you.”

“I’d enjoy it,” Enjolras responds instantly. “Or I could fuck you instead, if that’s what you prefer. I don’t suppose either of things can happen right now, but I’m sure we could figure something out.”

“Christ, Enjolras, of course I’d like to have you, I just don’t want to—“

“Have.” Enjolras narrows his eyes, and Grantaire feels caught. “Obviously you don’t have a problem with the word ‘fuck’, so you must mean something else. You want to have me more than you want to have sex with me…” He seems to realize something. “Were you thinking that I wouldn’t care for you?”

“You care for all your friends, I know that.” Grantaire’s throat feels dry.

“Be serious. That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I— I rather figured your heart was all filled up with your Patria. I wouldn’t dare to ask for any of it.” Enjolras’ eyes soften.

“That’s not how it works, R.”

“I know.”

They are silent for a long moment.

“I love you,” Grantaire says, so softly that he’s sure for a second Enjolras hasn’t heard it. Then Enjolras reaches his resting fingertips forward again, not to grab him this time, but to touch him, to put one huge fingertip over Grantaire's tiny heart, beating double-time at his own admission.

“I care for you. I want more than sex with you. That’s— that’s all I can give,” Enjolras says, a little sadly. “I understand if it’s not enough—"

“It’s enough. I love you, and if you put me over Patria you wouldn’t be you anymore.” Grantaire is surprised at how freeing it is to tell Enjolras. He’s had nightmares about that moment, but now he knows they’re baseless. Enjolras smiles and holds his hand out flat again, like he had in the Musain. Grantaire climbs on again, this time running his hands over the soft skin and smooth calluses. Enjolras’ hands are beautiful, and now that he knows Enjolras cares, he wants nothing more than those hands on his body again.

“So… do you want to do this? Now?” asks Enjolras.

“You don’t waste time, do you,” Grantaire tells him, but lightly. He thinks he could fly right now. “Yes, of course."

“Well, I wanted to kiss you, but I think that would just be awkward for both of us at the moment.”

“Alright then, uh— clothes,” Grantaire says awkwardly.

“As much as I’d love to strip you out of yours, I’m not sure I could work your buttons right now. Here—" he sets Grantaire down on his bed— “I’ll race you.”

They strip as quickly as they can, Grantaire closing his eyes so he doesn’t get distracted by the vision of beauty next to him. When they’re both done Enjolras scoops up the pile of his clothes and lays it on the table beside his bed, then climbs onto the mattress himself. No one has a right to be as graceful as he is clambering onto a bed.

“So I won,” Grantaire tries playfully, “What’s my reward?”

“I think your reward should be that I get to do whatever I want to you.”

“I’m not sure you know how rewards work.”

“I suppose it depends on your point of view. I bet you’ll come around to mine pretty soon.”

“Bold words—ohhh,” Grantaire moans. Enjolras had taken advantage of his distraction to lick a long stripe up his body. It feels so, so good, heat and wetness and pressure from his hip to his throat. Before he can recover, Enjolras licks again and again, so much stimulation that his eyes roll back in his head.

“Still don’t believe me?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Mm, nope,” Grantaire breathes.

“Well then. I’ll have to try harder.”

Smirking deviously, Enjolras pulls away and blows lightly over Grantaire’s body, damp with his saliva. For a moment it’s viciously cold and Grantaire shivers. Then Enjolras is back, stroking with soft, warm fingers, and he shivers for a different reason. Enjolras’ fingertips dance over his belly, his sides, his thighs, dragging a nail lightly over a nipple before moving back to more innocuous areas. What Enjolras doesn’t know is that Grantaire’s entire body feels like one big erogenous zone right now, and everything is better than he could have dreamed.

“Who taught you how to tease in bed?” he groans. “Never mind, I don’t want the answer.”

“Are you sure you can handle anything more right now?” Enjolras asks, too innocently.

“If you’re not going to do anything to me, at least let me see what I can do for you,” pleads Grantaire. He tries to get up and succeeds only in stroking Enjolras’ cheek as he’s pushed back down onto the pillow. The skin there is even softer than his hands. That Enjolras is moving Grantaire bodily to suit his own whims is more arousing than Grantaire cares to admit.

“No, don’t get up,” Enjolras instructs. “Tell me, what do you like? Do you want me to be rough? Or can I be gentle, the first time?”

“Whatever you want,” says Grantaire.

“Where should I touch you? Your cock, obviously, but what about your inner thighs, your ass, your chest? You liked when I touched your nipples earlier, should I keep on with that?” Grantaire is saved the trouble of answering out loud by the fact that Enjolras isn’t actually listening. His left arm is propping up his body, but his right is moving over every part as he names it. It’s soft, caring, but by no means the kind of delicate or shy touch that Grantaire envisioned when Enjolras said ‘gentle’. Each touch sends sparks up Grantaire’s spine, where they collect to make his brain feel like it’s going to melt out of his ears. He doesn’t want to know how Enjolras learned to do this, but he appreciates it so much right now.

“Enjolras, please—“ he begins, cut off by his own moaning. “More,” is all he can manage.

Enjolras delivers. His clever fingertips tease Grantaire’s nipples mercilessly, making him arch and pant and buck his hips to look for friction. His cock is so hard it’s beginning to ache, and precome is dripping onto his stomach. Still Enjolras ignores it, opting instead to stroke two fingers through his hair and tug on it softly. Grantaire cries out hoarsely and pushes into the touch. Enjolras is touching him all over at once, it feels like, and he’s looking so intently at every overstimulated reaction Grantaire gives, and Grantaire is very aware of the fact that he’s writhing and gasping on Enjolras’ pillow. Every quick breath fills Grantaire's lungs with his scent and it is glorious.

“Mmm, I can’t wait until you’re the proper size again,” Enjolras murmurs. His breath is just as heady now as it was back in the Musain, and Grantaire’s eyes roll back as he tries to push into every sensation. He almost forgets the frustration of his neglected cock. “You’re so strong, R, I bet you could give it to me exactly like I want it. Just keep going hard and fast even after I’ve come… that’s my favorite part, when it’s so good it hurts and I can’t even decide whether I want you to stop or to keep going forever.”

Finally, finally he touches Grantaire’s cock, using a fingertip to press it against Grantaire’s stomach. It’s so much pleasure, so suddenly, that he almost comes the moment it happens, but he doesn’t want this to be over yet. He holds on, but just barely.

“That’s it. Wait just a little longer.” Enjolras presses his first two fingers to his thumb to create a tight little space for Grantaire to push into. The pressure is relief, but it only drives the tension higher. “I bet you’d let me ride you, let me hold you still and just take everything you have to give me. I bet you’d fill me up wonderfully.” Grantaire’s movements become frantic and Enjolras withdraws his touch. “No, not yet. I haven’t even gotten to taste you.”

Enjolras waits only long enough for Grantaire to get his breathing under control before he swipes his tongue over Grantaire’s body again. He’s so much larger that Grantaire can almost feel the texture of the individual taste buds as they stroke over his skin, catching on his erect nipples and setting every nerve ending ablaze. One lick goes high enough that Enjolras’ tongue catches on stubble, and Grantaire leans forward to try to lick him in return. It’s hardly enough, but the taste is enough to make his hips buck, hard. Enjolras smirks at him and lazily cleans the precome from his stomach with his tongue.

Grantaire’s eyes widen as he realizes what Enjolras means to do, but there’s nothing he can do or say, either to prevent it or to encourage it. He has no idea what his mouth is doing, honestly. He could be talking filth like Enjolras, or moaning like a cheap whore, or just cursing and gasping, but he cannot think about that when there’s Enjolras to pay attention to. 

Still using his fingertips on Grantaire’s upper body, Enjolras lowers his head so the tip of his tongue can dart out, almost diffident compared to the long strokes of earlier, and swipe over Grantaire’s cock. 

Forget talking. Grantaire couldn’t even tell what he was thinking about in that moment.

Enjolras’ tongue is merciless, drawing precome drop by tiny drop from Grantaire’s cock, swallowing them down with a hungry expression. His eyes are blue flame stretched around blown pupils. Intent on licking Grantaire into oblivion, he can no longer talk, but his expression says clearly, ‘I want this, give it to me’.

Grantaire tries to hold on, clutching at the pillow under him, but that intensity is more than he can handle. He keeps his eyes on Enjolras’ until his vision whites out and his body seizes, coming with enough force that he thinks he might pass out. Long waves of pleasure rush through him and overcome him.

He doesn’t black out, thankfully, though he twitches with overstimulation when he sees that his come is painted over Enjolras’ tongue, that Enjolras is swallowing and looking as smug as the cat who got the— 

Perhaps that wasn’t the best metaphor.

Grantaire just lays there for a couple of minutes as he comes back to himself, enjoying the sight of Enjolras aroused and sweaty, still unsatisfied.

Eventually Enjolras rolls off to the side, his head coming down next to where Grantaire is lying and smacking him with a face-full of curls. He shakes his left arm out— it must be asleep from having been under him so long. Grantaire kneels up so he can lean over Enjolras’ face, looking intently at him. 

“That was amazing,” he tells Enjolras. “What can I do for you?”

“Now who doesn’t know how a reward works?”

“If you think I’m not going to find some way to make you come in return—“

“I don’t know,” says Enjolras thoughtfully. “It really is too bad you can’t fuck me."

“I swear, the second I’m my proper size again,” Grantaire says emphatically, “I am going to fuck you until you’ve come twice.” He raises an eyebrow, daring Enjolras to comment on his confidence. 

“I’d love for you to have me, R,” is what Enjolras says instead. The purposeful distinction settles warmly somewhere in Grantaire’s chest and he smiles, leaning over to press a kiss to Enjolras’ red, full lips. He hadn’t even been biting them; it’s kind of ridiculous. Enjolras doesn’t respond, probably because he might get Grantaire’s whole head in his mouth by accident. Just when Grantaire thinks he’s seen everything, the universe throws a whole new mood-killer at him. It’s refreshing but hardly conducive, and he shakes his head, thinking instead of the look in Enjolras’ eyes as he’d swallowed Grantaire’s seed.

Much better.

Grantaire scrambles up onto Enjolras’ chest, trying not to dig his knees or his feet into the soft hollows of his skin. Finally Grantaire is sitting cross-legged on Enjolras’ sternum, in easy reach of whichever nipple he chooses to go for. 

“No hands,” he warns, leaning over to the right one. It’s hard already from the open air and from— Grantaire would like to think— what he’d been doing to Grantaire. Like the rest of Enjolras, it’s unfairly beautiful, tight and small and rosy, surrounded by warm pale-golden skin. Like Enjolras’ fingertip, it’s too large to get in his mouth, but it’s easy enough to suck on it and squeeze it with his hands. The moan that Enjolras makes in response may be the best sound Grantaire has ever heard.

Grantaire works at that nipple for a minute or two, switches to the other, and then decides to move lower down. He wishes he could find all of Enjolras’ little sensitive spots, but sadly his hands are too small right now for that to be practical. Instead he goes straight for his cock, hard and flushed and—

“I don’t think cocks are supposed to be pretty,” he informs Enjolras, staring at it raptly. It’s a little disconcerting that it’s almost as large as he is, but it’s so beautiful that he can’t take his eyes off of it.

“Are you complaining?” Enjolras asks.

“I’m complaining that I can’t suck it properly,” says Grantaire.

“I’ll make a list of things to do once you’re back to normal.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“I mean, I love you, Enjolras.” It’s wonderful to say it out loud, now that he can, so he does it again. “I love you.”

“I care about you too, R.”

And that’s more than enough. Grantaire moves to where he can reach Enjolras’ cock, pulling it down towards Enjolras’ stomach. He feels a little ridiculous, holding down a cock as large as he is with one arm and rubbing over the head with the other, but he can ignore that in favor of appreciating the sheer loveliness of that cock. The skin is possibly the softest thing Grantaire has touched in his entire life, and the gentle twitching when he finds a good spot is heady. 

Grantaire spends a few minutes exploring, running his fingers around the ridge of the head, stroking down the underside, carefully dipping a finger or two into the slit. That last rewards him with both a delicious sound and a bead of precome as large as his fist. Enjolras writhes a little as Grantaire finds the best places and keeps returning to them, but he tries so hard to stay still. Grantaire can feel the muscles straining under him.

It feels like almost no time has passed when Enjolras finally comes, hard, all over his own stomach. He breathes hard for a few moments before cleaning himself, smirking, with Grantaire’s clothes. 

“Hey! Now I can’t—“

“Get dressed? What a tragedy,” Enjolras says. “In any case, I won’t have you sleeping in clothes. Come here.”

Enjolras lies on his side and moves Grantaire up to curl in the hollow under his chin. Even more than before, it makes Grantaire feel surrounded by Enjolras. It makes him feel cared for. The feeling is so good he doesn’t ever want it to end.

 

They wake up some time in the early morning when Grantaire knocks his head hard against Enjolras’. They both flinch back and groan in pain, and then double-take to look at each other.

Grantaire is his normal size again.

“It’s good to have you back, R,” Enjolras says to break the silence.

“Last night feels like a dream,” Grantaire says, shaking his head. If he wasn’t still here in Enjolras’ bed, he wouldn’t believe it happened at all. Enjolras seems to see this in Grantaire’s expression.

“I care for you,” he says with his voice full of surety. One of his arms comes up to wrap around Grantaire, holding him close.

“I—“ Grantaire tries to respond, but in the harsh light of morning he’s not sure he can say it again. 

“It’s okay, Grantaire,” Enjolras says softly. Then he kisses Grantaire, a proper kiss like they didn’t get to have last night. 

It gives Grantaire courage. “I love you,” he can say, and he does.

Their lips slide together again and Grantaire’s mouth falls open almost immediately on a moan. He still doesn’t want to know who taught Enjolras, but the teacher must have been brilliant. Grantaire’s tongue darts out almost without his permission to taste the corner of Enjolras’ mouth, but Enjolras takes it captive, sucking hard before introducing his own tongue to Grantaire’s mouth. It goes on for what feels like hours— at least the light grows brighter in the interim— before it becomes anything like urgent.

When it does, it’s all at once. One moment the movements are sleepy and languorous, the next they’re needy and demanding, and their hips have come together as well. Both of them are hard, but as much as Grantaire would love to get off just rutting mindlessly against him, he did make a promise last night.

“Do you still want me to fuck you?” he asks.

“Oh yes,” Enjolras sighs. “I can do one finger with spit. Light the tallow while I do?” Grantaire nods eagerly and hunts through Enjolras’ things for matches. By the time he turns around, Enjolras has his knees bent and his feet flat on the bed, and he’s sucking perfunctorily on his own finger. The image hits Grantaire like a shock and he rushes to light the candle. By the time enough tallow has melted to make this easy, Enjolras has his finger deep inside himself. He’s stroking at something wonderful, going by the sound of his moans.

Grantaire scoops the tallow onto his first two fingers and then climbs onto the bed between Enjolras’ knees. Gently, he brings one of his fingers to join Enjolras’ inside himself, and sighs at the feeling even as Enjolras moans. He’s hot velvet inside, so tight against Grantaire’s fingers that he can’t help but imagine that feeling on his cock. It makes him twitch a little.

After a minute Grantaire adds his second finger so that Enjolras is taking three between them, one of his own elegant fingers and two of Grantaire’s larger, rougher ones. Grantaire shoves in a little harder, hooking his fingers to search for—

“Ohh.” Enjolras’ moan is long and shuddering. “Now, now. I need you to be fucking me now.”

Who is Grantaire to deny him that? He gathers a little more tallow to slick his own cock and then puts a hand on Enjolras’ hip to hold him still as he slides inside.

He goes as slow as he can, but its difficult because the feeling of Enjolras against his fingers is nothing, nothing at all, to the feeling of Enjolras on his cock. It’s unbelievably good, and it takes all the strength he has to go slowly and let Enjolras get used to him. As much as Enjolras says he wants to be fucked hard, the tightness of his hole means he’ll need at least a minute to adjust.

“Alright, I’m good,” Enjolras tells him, and that’s all the signal Grantaire needs. He starts to thrust, picking up speed quickly when he’s rewarded with rough little moans from Enjolras’ throat. A moment later Enjolras reaches down to take Grantaire’s right hand in his left, pulling it up so that Grantaire has to lean over Enjolras. It puts their faces exactly level with each other, and Grantaire can’t help but kiss him.

“Enjolras,” he moans. He feels so good, Grantaire isn’t sure if he can last beyond Enjolras’ first orgasm, let alone a second. Luckily the first doesn’t take long, once Enjolras lets go of Grantaire’s hand long enough to let him stroke his cock. Enjolras tenses up and arches like a bowstring, coming beautifully over both of them. Grantaire has to close his eyes against the intense pressure as Enjolras clamps down on him, but he doesn’t come. Just like Enjolras had said, he keeps fucking him even after he comes, barely slowing.

The broken little moans Enjolras lets out are the only thing Grantaire wants to hear for the rest of his life.

It’s a couple of minutes before the overstimulation passes and Enjolras is really able to enjoy it again. It’s clear the moment it happens because Enjolras jolts against him and locks his ankles behind his back like he’s afraid Grantaire is going to leave. His free hand comes up to claw at Grantaire's back and pull him in closer. Enjolras is quickly starting to get hard again, but Grantaire is heading towards overwhelmed even faster. He doesn’t want to slow down and disappoint Enjolras, but at the same time he doesn’t think he can keep going at this pace for much longer without coming.

“Enjolras, I can’t—“ Grantaire tries to warn him. Enjolras immediately understands what he means and moves his right hand to Grantaire’s chest— though contact is really only going to make him come faster, as far as Grantaire can see.

And he is completely wrong. Enjolras tweaks his nipple hard enough to make him cry out in pain and his hips stutter to a stop, just for a moment. Well. At least he isn’t about to come quite yet.

“Better?” Enjolras says in that innocent voice that makes Grantaire want to punch him and kiss him in equal measure. He opts for kissing, holding himself up with his left arm beside Enjolras’ head. His right brings their joined hands down to Enjolras’ cock, fully hard again. Grantaire has to get him off before the shock of pain to his nipple wears off.

He doesn’t quite succeed. Grantaire holds back as long as he possibly can, biting his lip and breathing hard into Enjolras’ mouth, but after long minutes fucking as hard as he can, there’s really nothing for it. He collapses on Enjolras’ chest and mouths helplessly at his neck as he comes.

“Dammit,” he says as he pull back. “You were getting close, weren’t you?”

“Mm. Just a little,” Enjolras says, sounding somehow both amused and frustrated. It occurs to Grantaire that his hand is actually still on Enjolras’ cock, and he moves to stroke again, but Enjolras stops him. “You know, there was something else on that list we didn’t make last night.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says intelligently, eyes fluttering a little at the thought of taking Enjolras into his mouth. Some of his best dreams are about that very thing. Enjolras smirks at Grantaire as he breathes deeply, knowing he won’t be able to take much unless he can get his breath under control. When Grantaire thinks he’s ready, he moves back down between Enjolras’ legs to study his lovely cock again. It’s a little wet with his own come, slick and lovely, and Grantaire can’t stop himself from taking the head into his mouth all at once.

Scratch everything else, this is the best sound Enjolras has made yet. Or at least, it’s the one Grantaire takes the most pride in. He has extensive training in this area, and this feels like the competition. He licks and sucks like he’s going to win a prize—

Perhaps that wasn’t the best simile, either.

When Grantaire's gotten into a rhythm, he pulls Enjolras’ fingers into his hair, letting him pull and direct and force him down. It doesn’t take long, with how close Enjolras was before. As Enjolras’ moans reach fever pitch, he goes down as far as he can and holds, letting Enjolras come down his throat. It feels like satisfaction.

When Grantaire moves back up the bed to lay down, Enjolras is the one panting, still flushed from his pleasure. Grantaire tucks his head into Enjolras’ neck and breathes deeply. The scent isn’t as all-consuming as it was when he was small, but it’s still wonderful.

 

“Hey, R?” Enjolras says after a while.

“Hmm?” Grantaire is sleepy again, after the exertion, and all he wants is to stay curled against Enjolras like this.

“Will you tell me now, how this happened to you?” Grantaire snorts.

“When a grisette tells you her abilities are magical to experience, sometimes she’s being literal.”

“And she thought you wanted to be tiny?”

“She thought I deserved a punishment for… mispronouncing her name.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you know, Marie and Enjolras have some of the same letters. It’s easy to get confused."


End file.
